Chanel Miller’s memoir, “Know My Name,” tells the story of her s*xual assault, highly-publicized trial, and years of healing.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
The short version: this is one of the best books I have ever read.
The long version:
Have you ever been reading and felt the need to scream? That was how I felt reading “Know My Name.” Never before have I read a memoir that has so touched me; Miller’s writing style is heartbreakingly beautiful and incredibly intricate. Her prose, her pacing, her use of metaphors and flashbacks, all of it shows the talent of an award-winning author, and an award-winning author she is. She deserves it all. Miller has a way of describing feelings I didn’t even know I felt, pulling them out of her life and saying, “Here it is, and here’s a pattern in my life of that feeling,” and immediately I see it, I see that feeling in my life and I wonder, “How does she know me so well?”
I run a sexual violence prevention group at my high school, and after reading the novel, I hand-typed an excerpt and printed out copies, using them as a discussion starter during a club meeting. Each sentence was important to someone, each one deserving of analysis and repetition aloud. I told them that I couldn’t recommend “Know My Name” enough, and I will say it again now. I cannot recommend this book enough. It has touched me beyond belief, and I can only say thank you. Thank you, Chanel Miller. Thank you.
This edition of “Sense and Sensibility” comes from a box set from Macmillan Collector’s Library
MY REVIEW
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
Skip to the bolded line to avoid spoilers!
When I finished Jane Austen’s “Sense and Sensibility,” I felt a sense of disappointment. I felt uneasy; its perfect ending was actually, in a way, horrifying to me. The novel ended with Elinor marrying Mr. Ferrars, a man who had been recently disowned by his family, and Marianne marrying Colonel Brandon, a man with whom she had no chemistry or conversations. The two couples live side-by-side in the country, happy as can be. I couldn’t understand why or how this could satisfy any of the characters. How could Elinor be happy in almost certain poverty? How could Colonel Brandon marry someone who didn’t love him back the way he loved her? How could Marianne marry someone she didn’t love, especially as a character so in tune with her emotions?
I was ready to give the book 3 out of 5 stars, disappointed and unsettled, before I read the afterword, which argued that the ending was supposed to feel somewhat uneasy on a first read. At no point in the novel does it make sense for the characters to make the choices they did; nor does it make sense to have this incandescently happy ending when the whole novel has been about turmoil: falling into hysterics over information about a potential suitor’s betrayal, screaming into pillows, fainting and falling ill. This wasn’t supposed to feel right, because the characters at the end are not the same as the characters we knew in the body of the novel. They have changed for the better. However, we were unable to see this change. The ending is more of an epilogue in truth, and without any context given in the months that pass between the second-to-last and final chapter, it is difficult to understand this.
What I came to understand was that Marianne needed to marry someone she wasn’t desperately in love with. Intense love had nearly killed her before, with the betrayal of Mr. Willoughby making her sick for months on end. She didn’t need passion; she needed a partner. She already found passion in her everyday life: in nature, in literature, and within herself. Marianne needed a husband who was a friend first and lover second.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, Elinor needed to marry someone she was desperately in love with. She was used to making practical choices, having been the one earlier in the novel who stated the importance of a man’s wealth when picking a match for marriage. She ends up marrying a poor man, cut off from his family. Why would she do this? Elinor comes to realize the importance of passion, something which she is lacking. She already has sense. What she needs is someone who will make her see the joys of life, even if he is not the most practical choice. Once I understood this, I upped my rating to 4 out of 5 stars.
“Sense and Sensibility” is not what I was expecting; it is less of a love story than it is a story of self-discovery, of teen girls learning how to be adult women in society without losing their identities. I think that is why I was initially disappointed by the novel — where was the chemistry, the romance? In the end, the focus wasn’t supposed to be on the chemistry or the romance. The focus was on how the characters dealt with the romance, or lack thereof: their overly emotional, or, on the other hand, entirely hidden responses, and how those change throughout the book.
“Sense and Sensibility” is not “Pride and Prejudice.” They are not even comparable on some levels because “Sense and Sensibility” is a coming-of-age story first and romance second, while in “Pride and Prejudice,” you find the reverse. While both include Austen’s gorgeous and witty prose, along with the issues of marriage and money, their objectives are different. One is written to tell a love story. The other is written as almost a lesson on growing up and finding love, as well as finding maturity. However, the story is magnetic and, in a strange way, relatable. As a teenage girl, it is interesting to see how so much has changed, yet so much has stayed the same between now and Regency Era England. While I might not be dressing up for a ball or getting engaged at 18, I can understand wanting to scream into a pillow when you find out your crush likes your friend or getting frustrated with your younger sister when she keeps talking about the guy you like.
Although I don’t see myself rereading “Sense and Sensibility” anytime soon, I know I will continue to think about it for many months to come.
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